Home
by Little.Miss.Xanda
Summary: She had been created for one thing—to look after the children in her care. That was her purpose and she did it with pride. She loved all her children; light, dark, good, bad, she did not care. All she wanted was for them to be safe and happy. Time, though, made her realize that her wants mattered little.


**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made.

 **Written for the Quidditch League – Season 4 Fanfiction Competition – Round 5**

 **Prompt:** **The Mystery Boxes**

I hope you all like a bit of mystery! We have 12 magical boxes filled with 8 different prompts; one of which must be used by each team member. Each box has an overall theme (below). Someone from your team must come and claim a box by posting in THIS thread which box you would like for your team. No double claims! I will then send out the list of prompts to that person. I will send them in the order that people post.

 **Wasps:** Box—Hogwarts

 **Chaser 2:** Head!canon prompt—The castle has thoughts and feelings of its own

 **Additional prompts** :

#2.(word) Demure

#10.(quote) 'They say marriages are made in Heaven. But so is thunder and lightning.' - Clint Eastwood.

#13.(phrase) 'Under lock and key.'

 **Chaser 2 for the Wimbourne Wasps**

* * *

 **Home**

Murmurs tickled at the edge of their consciousness. Words unknown to them caressed their mind. They might not know the words, but the feelings behind them were easy to understand. The words were gentle, comforting.

Unsure, they reached out slowly. The words, still unknown to them, gained an excited edge. Was that a good thing? What _was_ good, though? They had this certain notion in their mind—a concept of 'good'—but they did not truly know what it meant.

They… She? Maybe it? Or, was it a he? Which was the right one? What _was_ right? Was right the same as good?

The ones at the edge of their, her, his consciousness were using _she_ a lot. Did they mean her, it, him?

Hogwarts?

What was a Hogwarts?

Suddenly, pictures flooded their, his, her, its mind; notions that were unknown to her, him, it, they before became newly apparent. Stones and walls and corridors and rooms. Hogwarts was all of it and more. So much more. Hogwarts was _home_. Hogwarts was _her_. Her. Yes. She was a her. She was Hogwarts. She was home. And they, the ones talking to her, were her creators: Salazar, Rowena, Helga, and Godric.

Slowly, she reached out again, their words becoming understandable the longer she kept the connection.

"Hogwarts." She could hear the smile in the voice speaking to her.

She wanted to reply, to say something, but she could not. She had no mouth, no voice. She was a building. A _building_. Something washed through her, something unpleasant. A feeling? Maybe? She was not sure.

"Oh, Hogwarts." The same voice spoke again. "I am Helga, as you must know from the information we gave you." Yes, she knew that. Helga and the others were in the Great Hall, near the doors, touching, _caressing_ , her stones. "Why do you feel such distress?"

That unpleasant thing had been distress? How could she explain herself when she could not speak?

"Hogwarts." This voice was strong, deep. It carried an edge of wariness, but it was gentle, she knew. Salazar was one of her founders; part of him was in her, too. She knew him as well as she knew the other three. He could not hide from her. "Communication is more than words. You do not need words to communicate with us."

She did not need words?

She reached out again, more deliberately this time, and felt their minds brush against her consciousness. She sent them her distress, her doubts.

"Hogwarts." This voice, also female, was just as warm as Helga's; however, there was an underlying touch of steel to it. "You are far more aware than we had anticipated. I am sorry; it was not our intention to cause you pain."

"Indeed." Godric sounded troubled, and she _saw_ him leaning against her walls. "We merely tried to give you some sentience to help protect our students. We were not aware you would be burdened with true consciousness."

"You are more than a building, Hogwarts," Helga added, patting her walls. "You are a home to us, to all the children that grace these halls. We created you to watch over them, since we cannot be with every single one of them all the time."

Watch over children? That was her purpose? To help her creators protect the children in their care? That… that did not seem like a bad thing to do. She could do that. Her walls could shield these children, protect them. It was something she would be proud to do.

She was a building. She was a castle. She was Hogwarts: home to all children that graced her halls.

* * *

She was mourning.

In moments like these, she wanted nothing more than to have arms, so that she could embrace those she loved. She despaired as she watched Rowena withering away. Rowena was the last one. Rowena had held on while the other three left.

Salazar—kind, gentle, scared, misunderstood Salazar—had been the first to leave her. He had retreated to his chambers, murmuring soothing words for only her to hear. He had begged her to keep the children safe, to protect them when he could no longer do so. He had left that night, and the only consolation she had was that she still carried a part of him within her.

Helga had left them soon after. Sweet Helga had not been able to bear the pain of living in a home where her brother was no longer. Salazar and Helga had always been the closest, even though her creators all loved one another equally.

Godric held on for a little longer—not much, mind you—and then, he was gone as well. To battle with the muggles in one of their endless wars, Rowena had said. They both knew the truth, however. Godric could not call Hogwarts his home anymore, not after both his brother and sister had left.

Rowena, though, Rowena had stayed.

Rowena had stayed, and Hogwarts was ever so grateful. She had not wanted to be abandoned by her creators—her parents in all the ways that mattered.

Now, however, she wondered if it might not have been better if Rowena had left as well.

Hogwarts knew loss; she had seen her children come and go. It was how things were meant to be, Helga had explained. They watched over the children, and when time came, they would let them go live their own lives. It was bittersweet, but in the end, it was as things should be.

This, however, was different.

Death: such a strange concept for one such as her. She understood, logically, what death was. However, she was not sure if she truly _understood_. She would never die. She would remain, tall and strong, long after her creators had left, long after the children that now walked her halls had children of their own, and those had children as well. She would remain for as long as her stones remained.

Was this immortality?

Even now, years later, she did not know if what her creators had wrought when they brought her consciousness had been kindness or cruelty.

"Hogwarts."

She reached out at the whisper of her name. These days, Rowena could hardly talk any louder. "Hogwarts, my home, our home. You know we love you as if you were our child, do you not?"

Of course, she knew. All of them had told her so, many times. Rowena smiled; it was so demure that for a moment, it looked like one of Helga's. Rowena had been just as warm and kind, however, she had never been timid. She had been sure in her beliefs, strong in her opinions. It was not an expression she was used to seeing on Rowena.

"Marriages are made in Heaven, they say. People seem to forget that so is thunder and lighting. We might not have been married, but the results were the same. We created amazing things together, the four of us, Hogwarts. Though, we committed a lot of wrongs as well. We were selfish when we created you, Hogwarts—so very selfish. I am sorry, my dear, that we have damned you to this life. Please, forgive us. Forgive me."

There was nothing to forgive, absolutely nothing. She loved her creators; she adored the children that walked her halls.

She reached towards Rowena, enveloping her mind in all the love, warmth, and care she had for Rowena, for all her creators.

Rowena smiled, warm and open and gentle. "I am glad."

Rowena closed her eyes. She did not open them again.

* * *

Time was a strange concept for her. She knew time had passed since Rowena had taken her last breath; however, she could not say how much time had passed.

A day? A week? A year? Maybe a century? She did not know. Time truly had lost its meaning to her.

She still watched over the children—as she had been created to do—but there was something different now.

She… she felt lonely.

The day the last of her creators left her halls, something had changed. It had taken her a while to notice it, but then it slowly dawned on her. The children might love Hogwarts, but they did not know she was more than a castle, more than a school for magic. The children she looked after, the professors that walked her halls, none of them knew she was alive.

The truth of her existence had been kept under lock and key by her creators. They had wanted to protect her, not sure how others would react to knowing that they had created life with their magic. She had understood, and she had not cared. She had the four of them—what did she care if others knew of her existence beyond that of a school? She had not taken into account that one day, her creators would not be there.

And now, after days, weeks, years, centuries, she felt utterly alone.

* * *

She continued to watch over the children. There was little else she could do. However, time made her realize that some children could feel her. She had tried reaching out as she had done with her creators; however, no one had ever been able to feel her as they had.

Even so, she had kept trying. Hoping against hope that someday, a child would be able to respond.

She did not love those children any more than she did the ones that were not able to feel her—she loved all of them equally—but they gave her hope. They erased some of the loneliness that had invaded her. Could she be blamed for paying a little more attention to them?

Usually, those children were the ones that needed a home the most anyway, so she saw no harm in paying a little more attention to them. So what if she nudged them towards unused rooms when they needed a place to be by themselves? Or if she moved her stairs towards the right floor so that they would not be late? Or if she showed them where the kitchens were? These children usually needed a little spoiling; she was merely doing her part.

And then, years, centuries after her Salazar had left, a boy walked onto her grounds, and she knew who he was right away. He felt like Salazar, and he had been able to feel her the second he stepped through her wards.

She had been overjoyed to have one of Salazar's children in her halls once more.

She had been heartbroken that one of Salazar's children was one of the children able to feel her.

She saw his pain day after day, and she did everything in her power to make him feel safe, to make him feel at home. And for a while, she succeed.

Her little Tom loved her dearly. He spoke with her, soft whispers in the middle of the night, reminding her of Salazar so much it hurt. He was such a bright boy, such a joy. Of course, she could see he was hurt, even more so than Salazar had been; however, she was not worried. She believed that she would be able to heal that hurt. Tom was such a bright soul; she would not let him fall. She would protect him—it was the least she could do for one of Salazar's children.

She even pointed him towards Salazar's Chamber when Tom found out that he was an heir of her creator. She believed that it would help Tom feel something more than the constant fear and pain that had been haunting him for so long because of those dreadful Muggles and their endless wars. How she wished she could shield him from it.

She wanted to protect him so badly. How could she have known that it would all be for naught?

She would have cried, if she could, when she witnessed the atrocity he committed. How could he? How could her child damn his soul in such a way?

She retreated into herself, hiding away from all who could feel her.

* * *

Years passed, and she remained dormant. She could not truly sleep—she did not need sleep—but she could let herself drift to the edge of unconsciousness, lingering on the verge of awareness but never truly crossing.

She could feel children that needed her. She could see that they were in as much need of a home as her Tom had been; yet, she did not answer. The pain of what Tom had done was still too fresh; it seemed even fresher now since she could feel a piece of him inside her walls.

No, she would not answer.

She would not reach out to them.

She could not.

* * *

She was jolted out of her semi-conscious state. If she had eyes, she would have blinked. She searched her grounds for what had caused it, only for shock to flow through her when she found it. The child, so much like Tom, yet not.

None had been able to feel her as this child had, none but Tom.

Slowly, almost timidly, she reached out, and was bombarded with so many emotions that it took her a second to process everything. _Joywarmthexcitementfearhappinesshope_. Such an amalgamation of emotions that she was surprised the child appeared as calm as he was.

For a fraction of a second, she had wanted to retreat back to her semi-conscious state; it was the best thing to do to avoid suffering as she had with Tom. She was certain this tiny, black-haired, green-eyed child would cause her just as much grief as Tom had.

However, when the child's house was called, and the child was filled with a sense of _home_ , she found it impossible to stay away.

After all, it was clear that her little Harry needed someone to look after him.

* * *

Her anguished scream rang silently over her grounds. _Please_ , she wanted to scream, _please, stop_! She could not bare to see her children harming one another. She shuddered as her walls were torn asunder. She cried as her stones harmed those she had sworn to protect. One after another, her children fell, their blood tarnishing her walls, floors, and grounds.

This was not why she had been created.

This was not what her creators had wanted.

"No! Fred, no!"

She wailed as her child was buried under her stones, while dozens of others crumbled throughout her grounds.

This was war? This had been what her little Tom had feared? She had known what war was, but she had not truly understood, not until this moment. Why? Why had Tom done this? Why had he created something he had so feared?

As the battle raged on, she tried to shield her children as best she could. She did not care for light or dark, good or evil. She only wanted her children safe. She tried shielding the little ones, moving stairs and closing doors. She felt useless, utterly useless. How was she meant to protect them when she could do nothing more than what she already had? It was far too little. She was losing far more than she was able to save.

Then, a hush fell over her grounds, and all her attention focused on her two little lost boys. Her little Tom and her little Harry; one broken beyond repair, the other just as bright as the day he stepped foot on her grounds.

She watched, her heart breaking all over again, as those red eyes, that used to be a beautiful dark blue, closed for the last time.

She mourned him as much as all her other children. Seeing all the destruction he had wrought, she believed she would be the only one who would.

* * *

Laughter rang in her halls, bright, cheerful, and carefree. It was a sound she would never tire of hearing. It was a sound she thought she would never hear in her halls again.

However, she had learned that time healed all wounds, and she was once more a home to all the children that were willing to learn magic.

"Hogwarts."

Her attention snapped to the small, turquoise-haired child that was walking the halls and caressing her walls.

"Hogwarts," he repeated. "My father went to school here. My mother, too. They died here."

She reached out, something she had not done since her little Harry. She tried sending him as much love, warmth, safety, as she could. She was not sure he would able to feel it, but she had to try.

"Dad says that you were always home to him, still are home to him." The little one smiled. "I think I know what he means now." He laughed, giving a little twirl, and patting her walls as he made his way to his common room. "You already feel like home to me."

Joy filled her at those words.

Home, that was all she ever wanted to be.

* * *

 **A.N.:** My dear, lovely teammates, thank you for the help. Without you this round would have been even harder. My talented betas agentmopped, Kefalion, and 3cheersforidiots thank you. Even though you were all so busy this week, you still found time to go over this. Love you guys :)


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